A pair of very chubby legs
Encased in scarlet hose;
A pair of little stubby boots
With rather doubtful toes;
A little kilt, a little coat,
Cut as a mother can,
And lo! before us strides in state
The Future's 'coming man.'
His eyes, perchance, will read the stars,
And search their unknown ways;
Perchance the human heart and soul
Will open to their gaze;
Perchance their keen and flashing glance
Will be a nation's light,--
Those eyes that now are wistful bent
On some 'big fellow's' kite.
That brow where mighty thought will dwell
In solemn, secret state;
Where fierce ambition's restless strength
Shall war wih future fate;
Where science from now hidden caves
New treasures shall outpour,--
'Tis knit now with a troubled doubt,
Are two, or three cents, more?
Those lips that, in the coming yaars,
Will plead, or pray, or teach;
Whose whispered words, on lightning flash,
From world to world may reach;
That, sternly grave, may speak command,
Or, smiling, win control,--
Are coaxing now for gingerbread
With all a baby's soul!
Those hands--those little busy hands--
So sticky, small, and brown,
Those hands, whose only mission seems
To pull all order down,--
Who knows what hidden strength may lie
Within their future grasp,
Though now 'tis but a taffy-stick
In sturdy hold they clasp?
Ah, blessings on those little hands,
Whose work is yet undone!
And blessings on those little feet,
Whose race is yet un-run!
And blessings on the little brain
That has not learned to plan!
Whate'er the Future hold in store,
God bless the 'coming man'!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.